


Love Does That (Sour Kush, Part Three)

by alisvolatpropiis



Series: Sour Kush [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Bearded Derek, Bottom Derek, College Student Stiles, Come Eating, Comeplay, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Face-Fucking, Feels, Jealous Derek, Love Confessions, M/M, Marijuana, Original Character(s), POV Derek, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Recreational Drug Use, Stiles Wears Glasses, Stoned sexytimes, Stoner Derek, Stoner Stiles Stilinski, Tattooed Derek, Top Stiles Stilinski, Versatile Derek, Versatile Stiles Stilinski, past stiles/omc - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-13
Updated: 2014-10-13
Packaged: 2018-02-20 23:08:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2446481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alisvolatpropiis/pseuds/alisvolatpropiis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek surprises Stiles on a Friday afternoon a month after he moves back to Palo Alto, waiting for him in front of the building where his last class of the day is held (<em>thank you, Scott</em>). He leans against the side of the illegally parked Camaro, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, wearing sunglasses even though it’s cloudy and almost dark. Derek picked him up from work like this a few times this summer – after they stopped being idiots and finally confessed their feelings for each other – and even though he mocked Derek ruthlessly for his cliché persona Stiles admitted, as he was lovingly working Derek’s cock, sliding his foreskin over his head as he licked at the tip, that he was a sucker for the bad boy look.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Does That (Sour Kush, Part Three)

**Author's Note:**

> Part Three of Sour Kush, from Derek's POV! With jealous Derek, bottom Derek, and a lil' daddy kink to shake things up. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading, and for your lovely comments! xoxo

Derek surprises Stiles on a Friday afternoon a month after he moves back to Palo Alto, waiting for him in front of the building where his last class of the day is held ( _thank you, Scott_ ). He leans against the side of the illegally parked Camaro, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, wearing sunglasses even though it’s cloudy and almost dark. Derek picked him up from work like this a few times this summer – after they stopped being idiots and finally confessed their feelings for each other – and even though he mocked Derek ruthlessly for his cliché persona Stiles admitted, as he was lovingly working Derek’s cock, sliding his foreskin over his head as he licked at the tip, that he was a sucker for the bad boy look. 

He still feels a bit ridiculous though, but it’s worth it when Stiles shuffles out of the building in the middle of a small cluster of students, looking down at his phone, whiskey eyes and pink grin going wide when he finally looks up and sees Derek standing there. Stiles is wearing a red beanie and flannel shirt over a Thor tee, face dusted with patchy scruff, tired enough that he’s not wearing his contacts, eyes shadowed under his black glasses. He’s so impossibly gorgeous Derek goes a little breathless for a moment, just grateful that he gets to know him, never mind that he gets to call him his, gets kiss that blissfully seductive mouth, gets to lick with loving devotion across his beauty-marked skin, down the graceful arc of his spine. Gets to wake up next to him, see his sleepy smile; that Stiles’ dream-laden voice mumbles _his_ name.  

Stiles laughs and drops his backpack; he’s all warm buzzing energy, practically climbing him, attacking Derek’s mouth sloppily, adorable little nose smudging up his sunglasses. “This is the best surprise ever,” he mumbles into the kiss, squeezing his ass. Derek’s vaguely aware of people staring at them, but he doesn’t care, welcomes it even. He’s never been one for public displays of affection, but he finds himself loving it, wants everyone to see that this perfect, beautiful boy is all his.

“Take me to bed, and fuck me senseless, _now_ ,” Stiles orders, loud enough that the people walking by definitely hear and look over with raised eyebrows. Derek _loves_ it.

He smiles and grunts, kisses him again, hard and filthy, before opening the passenger door for him, slapping his ass and winking. When Derek slides into the driver’s seat, he reaches back behind Stiles to grab his other surprise, a thin, flat rectangular metal case. “Special for you, babe.” Stiles crooks up an eyebrow and slides the lid off, revealing the dozen THC oil-infused joints Derek hand rolled just for him.

“Holy shit, dude,” Stiles laughs, eyebrows going up. It’s silly, how much pride Derek feels when Stiles smiles like that and he’s responsible for it. It’s even more ridiculous how fucking turned on it gets him when Stiles places one of the thick joints in his pink mouth, drawing a lighter from his pocket, exhaling a thick plume of sour-sweet smoke through his puckering lips into Derek’s smiling, worshipful face.

**~*~**

A joint and half and few orgasms later, Stiles manages to pull Derek up from the bed, fluttering his lashes in that way he knows is irresistible to him, cooing something about promising Lydia he’d go to her party. His hesitation must show on his face, because Stiles stops getting dressed and crosses the room to where Derek’s still sitting naked on the edge of the bed, hoping he can convince Stiles to take his pants back off. “It’s just a low-key dinner party. Not even that. Thai takeout and Cards Against Humanity.”

That does make Derek feel a little bit better. As much as he adores Stiles and is willing to endure pretty much anything so their relationship doesn’t interfere with his college experience, he’s not really in the mood to suffer through a kegger, could barely tolerate big parties back when he was in college. “Sounds fun,” he says, smile feeling only a bit forced. It’s not that he’s completely antisocial. He’d just rather stay in bed and remind Stiles of all the ways he can make him come. They haven’t seen each other in a month. He may have forgotten.

Derek stands and pulls on his jeans, making a point to show Stiles that he’s not bothering to put his underwear back on. “I know what you’re worried about,” Stiles muses, smirking even though he can’t seem to tear his gaze away from where Derek’s slowly, languidly adjusting himself before zipping up. Derek arches his eyebrows in question and tosses Stiles’ flannel at him, turning back to dig through the sheets for his own shirt. “You’re worried about being the old guy hanging out with a bunch of college kids.”

“The old guy,” he asks, pretending to be offended, grinning when Stiles moves closer to hook his arms around his neck and nibble at his beard.

“I like that you’re old. Makes me feel small and special.”

Derek catches his reddened mouth in a kiss, licking in to taste his come on the back of Stiles’ tongue. “You are special,” he breathes, heart racing at how resoundingly true it is.

Stiles takes a deep, shuddering breath, licking at his lips. Derek knows that look, knows that nervous bite at his lower lip, knows that Stiles wants to say something. “Tell me,” he whispers, wanting to give Stiles whatever he wants, whatever he needs.

Stiles breathes out heavily again. “Sometimes…when I think about how you’re older…how you’re bigger than me, so strong…it makes me…fuck, sometimes it makes me want to call you _daddy_.” He winces a bit when he says it, like he’s worried about Derek’s reaction, which no, no fucking worries _at all._ Derek’s straining against his zipper, a little stunned at how much he likes the idea of Stiles panting and whining underneath him, calling him daddy, mewling and tortured. He captures his lips again, relentless this time.

They’re late to the party.

**~*~**

“Lydia’s girlfriend, Allison, is older too,” Stiles tells him as they arrive at the party just as the delivery guy is driving away. “This is her place,” he explains, gesturing towards the small but clearly expensive house. Derek has never met Lydia, Stiles’ other best friend, because she spent the summer in France with Allison. Derek is terribly curious about her, about everyone in Stiles’ life, wants to get to know all the nook and crannies of his world, wants to know every piece of him so he can love him in every way he needs.

Stiles opens the front door without knocking, calling out a hello and leading Derek in. “Finally! We’re in the living room,” a woman’s voice calls out, and Stiles rolls his eyes turns back to smile at him.

“Prepare yourself,” he whispers, winking. Derek doesn’t get a chance to ask for what before they walk down a short hallway into a large living room, a mixed group of men and women sitting around a low coffee table eating from takeout containers. An intimidatingly beautiful, green-eyed redhead stands and comes to hug Stiles, kissing him on the cheek.

“Now I see why you’re late,” she says, unabashedly checking Derek out. “I’m Lydia,” she says, leaning in for a hug. “Stiles has told me so much about you I feel like I already know you. He didn’t, however, tell me that you were coming tonight.” She arches her eyebrows at Stiles, admonishing but playful.

“That’s my fault,” Derek says, smiling. “I surprised him.”

“Mmm, I bet you did,” Lydia coos, and Derek understands why Stiles adores her. 

“Hi, I’m Allison,” an equally gorgeous brunette announces, bouncing up to wrap an arm around Lydia’s waist. “It is so nice to meet you, Derek. Please, come in. We have plenty of food.” Derek lets her lead him over to the couch, Stiles trailing behind him, fingers staying curled together. Stiles seems to know everyone, says hello and introduces Derek as his boyfriend, making Derek’s chest flutter with excitement; it’s so distracting he has to work extra hard to pay attention to who he’s meeting. There’s a guy named Danny and another called Jackson, he thinks, and Scott and Kira, who he’s met before, and Scott’s friend Isaac. “Tristan’s here too,” Scott says quietly to Stiles, like he doesn’t want Derek to hear. “He’s friends with Danny,” Scott explains, apologetic.

But Derek does hear, and his stomach sours a bit. Fuck, he needs another joint to deal with this. Stiles told him about Tristan, the guy from his dorm he hooked up with throughout his freshman year, the guy who took his virginity but who hadn’t been more than a casual fuckbuddy. Stiles told Derek a couple of weeks ago that when he returned to school this year Tristan tried to start things back up again and that he was pretty disappointed when Stiles told him that he had a boyfriend. Derek had been abstractly jealous at the time, but pleased, proud that Stiles had chosen him. 

Now, though, faced with the reality of meeting the guy, of seeing the hands and mouth that had Stiles’ body first, he feels a very real, visceral jealousy, a gut twisting anxiety that makes him want to fucking _claim_ Stiles, and he doesn’t really even know what that means. All he knows is that he suddenly wants it to be very clear to everyone everywhere, especially this mysterious Tristan guy, that Stiles chose him, lets Derek be the one to touch him now, to make him feel good, to love him like he deserves.

Seemingly oblivious to Derek’s internal freakout, Stiles shrugs off Scott’s warning and sits next to him on the couch, perching on the edge, leaning across the coffee table to take a carton of pad thai from Allison. Derek scoots closer to him, pressing his thigh firmly against his, eyes watching Stiles’ face closely to see how he reacts; he smiles at him before shoving a terrifyingly huge bite of noodles and chicken into his mouth.

Derek laughs and rolls his eyes, just in time to see Tristan emerge from the hallway, and fuck, Derek hates to admit that he’s attractive. He’s about Stiles’ height but smaller, more narrowly-built, with dark, buzzed hair and big, pretty blue eyes, and a nice smile too, wide and genuine, but Derek hates it, because he’s so obviously smiling at Stiles, thrilled it seems, that’s he’s arrived. “Stiles, hey, you’re finally here,” he says, sitting in the armchair directly across from them, big eyes entreating, focused on Stiles and Stiles alone.

Derek knows that look.

He also knows that it’s irrational to hate the guy for it, but he can’t help it.

“Hey, Tristan, good to see you,” Stiles answers, ignoring his food for a moment and turning towards Derek, hand squeezing his thigh. “This is my boyfriend, Derek.”

Derek doesn’t make a conscious decision to stand up to shake his hand, he just _does_. And shit, then he _flexes_ – subtly of course, but glad he's wearing Stiles' favorite black v-neck that's way too tight – when he takes the kid’s hand in his, squeezing only a little harder than is generally necessary for a casual handshake, noting with a silent smirk that Tristan’s hand seems awfully small for someone of his height. “Nice to meet you,” he says coolly, voice low and even. He’s grateful Boyd isn’t here – he’d see right through his display, would be grinning silently and knowingly, shaking his head. _Whatever_ , he snarks back at imaginary Boyd. _I saw how pissed you got when Peter hit on Erica in front of you. Love does that._

Tristan isn’t subtle about giving Derek a once over, then a twice over, something akin to fear on his handsome features as he takes in his tattoos, his beard, the murderous-but-pretending-to-be-friendly to glare that he’s very carefully giving him. “Hi, Derek,” he says, swallowing hard, looking back to Stiles, eyes wide, like he can’t really believe it.

Derek sits back down, taking the container of spicy green beans that Kira hands him, watching Tristan watch Stiles. “So, Stiles,” Tristan asks. “How did you guys meet?”

“Do you mind?” Derek asks Allison, pulling a joint and lighter from his pocket.

“Go for it,” she smiles sweetly.

He lights the joint and hands it over to her, blowing smoke in Stiles’ face as he laughs, answering Tristan. “Derek’s my drug dealer,” he explains, taking the joint from Allison after she takes a drag.

Scott laughs, grabbing the joint from Stiles and inhaling deeply, smiling in bliss. “Dude,” he croaks, smoke cascading out of his mouth and nose. “Have I mentioned how much I love that you’re dating him?” 

Derek could _kiss_ Scott for that.

“Your drug dealer?” Tristan asks, looking Stiles over skeptically. 

“Kinda,” Stiles laughs, winking at Derek. “Derek’s actually a medical grower.”

Tristan looks back to Derek then, scoffing. “Where’d you pick up that skill,” he mutters, derisive and dismissive, like he thinks Derek learned botany in prison or something.

Derek lights a second joint, smoke thick and hazy from the hash oil he extracted himself. “In my master’s program in horticulture,” he replies evenly, smiling when Tristan’s face falls.

“Oh,” he says, staring at Derek for a long second before reaching over to take the joint he’s offering, looking disappointed and irritated.

Derek smiles, giving in to the jealousy, the rush selfish pleasure it gives him, running his hand up Stiles’ thigh, terribly obvious.

Love does that.

**~*~**

Derek’s too stoned to be offended when everyone but Stiles is surprised at how good he is at Cards, Stiles leaning over to kiss his cheek amidst everyone’s raucous laughter every time Derek wins a round. Derek leans into his touches, spends a lot of time leaning over to nuzzle into Stiles’ neck, whispering teasing promises into his ear. It’s part staking his claim, sure, but the longer the night goes on the more Tristan and his narrowed, pretty eyes recede into the background. Maybe it’s the pot or the month they’ve spent apart, at Derek’s insistence so Stiles could settle into the new school year without distraction, but he can’t keep his hands off of him, can’t stop himself from being the clingy boyfriend he never thought he would be. Fortunately, Stiles seems to love it, leans into every touch, even at first when he kept looking at him with wide-eyed bewilderment. Lydia and Allison keep looking over at him with discerning glances before looking at each other, smiling into their own mess of giggling nuzzles.

The two hours they spent in bed together before the party, getting reacquainted with each other’s bodies, only just barely took the edge of his need for Stiles. Derek’s starting to get antsy, eager to get back to Stiles’ bed, distracted by every little detail of him that he committed to memory this summer, long before he admitted even to himself that Stiles was more than just a casual hookup, more than just the unbelievably hot sheriff’s son who appeared at his door one day, all nervous energy and pouty mouth, big eyes drinking Derek up like he was dying of thirst.

He’s grateful when the game finally wraps up, everyone standing up and stretching, shaking off the weed and beer. Derek finds the bathroom, is washing his hands when Stiles stumbles in, closing the door behind him and wrapping himself around Derek’s back, staring at his reflection in the mirror. “You are the most ridiculous man in the world, you know that,” he murmurs into the back of his neck, voice lilting, admonishing. Stiles runs his hands up and down Derek’s chest, hitching up the bottom of his shirt to tease his fingers across his stomach, just above where his jeans are riding low on his hips.

“Sorry,” Derek mutters, looking away from his reflection, not wanting to see his cheeks pinking.

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Stiles bites into his neck, mouth hot and wet, fingers teasing lower. “I’ve never had anyone be jealous over me before. It’s adorable. And hot.” As if to prove it, Stiles rolls his hips, pressing the hard line of his cock against Derek’s ass, making them both gasp and stutter a bit, Derek marveling at how Stiles seems to always know exactly what he wants. His voices drops even lower, quiet and young, lips brushing against his ear. “I like that my daddy get jealous over me, wants everyone to know I’m his boy.”

“Home, _now_ ,” Derek gasps, pushing his hips back, meeting Stiles’ eyes in the mirror again as he smiles and nods in agreement.

**~*~**

They leave the Camaro at Allison and Lydia's, too stoned to drive. Kira drops them off at Scott and Stiles’ place, taking an almost passed out Scott home with her, grinning at the way they’re barely out of her car before they’re pulling at each other’s clothes again.

Once inside, they fall against each other, stumbling towards Stiles’ room, shirts and shoes and pants coming off in a whirlwind of fabric and clumsy grunts. “You're going to fuck me,” Derek growls, biting Stiles’ neck, sucking hard to leave a mark, carrying him to the bed, kissing away Stiles’ groan of surprise.

“You really want that? I mean, you like that,” he asks when Derek finally lets him talk, biting his bottom lip as he pulls away. He can feel Stiles’ heart pounding against where their chests are pressed together, warm, thrumming heat growing between them.

“I haven’t in a long time,” Derek admits, heart racing, body throbbing at the thought of Stiles burying his cock in him, filling him up. It’s been a long time since he’s met anyone he’s been willing to give himself over to like that, has been settling for his fingers when he craves it, has been imagining Stiles spreading him open and pinning him down with his long, eager cock for awhile now. “I trust you, Stiles,” he adds quietly, eyes imploring, needing him to know just how true it is, what it means. “I want you to fuck me,” he says again, in love with the way Stiles’ eyes go so, so big.

Derek rolls over on to his back, pulling Stiles on top of him, settling his naked thighs across his hips before reaching up to grab him by the armpits, limbs heavy and dense, pulling him down so he’s lying fully on top of him, his lithe body hot and nubile, their skin simmering at each point of contact.

“Derek,” Stiles moans, hands stroking his face, sending shivers down his spine, leaning down to kiss him softly on the mouth before pressing the soft burr of his patchy stubble against Derek’s full, long beard, sighing happily.

Something in Stiles’ voice, a gentle tremor, the way his vulnerability softens the edges of his name, settles under Derek’s skin right next to all the other little pieces of Stiles that have infiltrated his defenses, that have been chipping away at the walls he built around himself years ago, have been since that first day when he knocked on his door, nervous and dazzling, hypnotizing Derek with his beauty marks and his eyes, his messy hair and nonstop chatter. “I love you,” Derek whispers into his cheek, heart racing.

Stiles’ whole body seems to light up when pulls back to look Derek in the eyes, smiling, big and beautiful, beaming. “Derek, I am so in love with you, dude. You have no idea.”

It still stuns him, how good, how light and freeing it feels to laugh with him. “I think I do,” he tries to tell him, but it’s swallowed up by Stiles’ kiss, and Derek is more than okay with that.

**~*~**

Stiles crawls up Derek’s body, kissing him with a grin before straddling his shoulders, rubbing his cock on his face, leaving a trail of slick precome on his lips, in his beard. “Can I fuck your mouth,” he asks, hand circling his cock, rubbing the shiny tip over his bottom lip. Derek’s lightheaded with the salty-sweet taste of him, mouth filling with saliva, his own cock starting to leak. He nods and opens wide, sticks his tongue out to swirl around his head, delving into the slit, grinning at the low growl that rumbles from Stiles’ throat. He sticks his tongue out farther, an invitation Stiles eagerly accepts, sliding into his mouth and starting to pump shallowly, hands braced on either side of Derek’s head. Soon he starts to hit the back of his throat, gentle but insistent, then harder as Derek urges him on with a squeeze to his ass, rutting steady and strong, cock delicious and silky on Derek’s tongue, his heavy balls bouncing steadily against his chin. Derek’s eyes start to water but he doesn’t close them, tears running hot tracks down his temples. He doesn’t break Stiles’ gaze either, those brown eyes blown so wide they’re black in the low light, dark caverns Derek wants to lose himself in forever.

“Oh my god, Derek,” he whines, pulling out, panting. “Your mouth, fuck.” He sounds dazed, stoned and happy, gone with love.

Stiles climbs off of him. “Roll over,” he orders, playfully slapping his thigh. Derek has never wanted to obey before, but he does so happily now, looking back to see the wonder on Stiles’ face when he gets on all fours, presenting himself. He lets his head fall between his arms when Stiles plants a hand firmly on each ass cheek, squeezing and kneading at him, spreading, blowing softly against him. “Fuck, Derek. Your ass is spectacular, you know that?” It makes him preen with pride, the sincere awe in Stiles’ voice, the love in his touch. “Remember the first time you fucked me,” Stiles whispers, breathe hot and wet on his skin.

Derek nods, mewls out a tiny yes, will never forget the way Stiles took his cock so beautifully that first time, every time since. Derek's chest tightens, hoping he can be that good for him now.

Stiles’ voice is low, dark with lust and heavy with affection. “Remember how you made me come with your tongue in my ass before I rode your cock? You want that, Derek, you want me to eat your ass, make you come before I fuck you?” 

_Holy fuck_ , this boy is going to be the death of him. “Please,” Derek growls, hips twitching, bouncing his ass in his face. “Stiles, please.” He basks in the sounds of his own neediness, at how good it feels to give himself over to Stiles, to let him take control.

Stiles spreads him wide, his hole fluttering and unfurling when Stiles drops a heavy, hot drop of spit into him before diving down, burying his face, lapping at him with teasing, wet licks. He tickles his tight ring of muscle with the tip of his tongue until Derek’s panting, clenching and shaking, begging for more when Stiles finally shows him some mercy and shoves his tongue as far in as he can, fucking into him messily before pulling back to suckle at his rim, reaching between Derek’s legs to stroke his straining cock. Stiles shoves a couple of fingers into his mouth, slicking them up before putting his mouth back to him, slick digits prodding, stretching, opening him up. Derek’s heart is racing, stomach tightening and heat pooling in his joints, in his chest, feeling like he’s going to combust with each slick thrust of Stiles’ tongue, with the hot press of his full mouth and the rough scrape of his whiskers. “Stiles,” he pants, biting into the pillow under his face, hips rocking steadily now, dick sliding into Stiles’ fist, ass rocking back into his mouth and fingers.

Stiles pulls his mouth away, pushing his fingers in farther, biting at the swell of his ass, making Derek shiver, body lighting up, orgasm rising fast. “You taste so good,” Stiles mumbles, awed. “I’m going to come in your ass and then taste you again, lick you clean. Will you let me, Derek, baby? Will you let me fill you up and eat you out again?” He shoves his tongue back in, grunting, hand twisting on Derek’s cock. 

Derek just nods and moans, totally gone, climax licking through him like a flame, body shivering and shaking, ass clenching tight around Stiles’ tongue, shooting hard onto the sheets before Stiles gets his hand around his head, catching the last few sprays of his heavy, thick load. Derek collapses onto his side, feeling weightless and solid all at once, body buzzing. He watches through hooded eyes as Stiles licks his come from his hand, eyes locked on his. Stiles falls forward to kiss him when his hand is mostly clean, spreading the taste of his ass and come into his mouth, and fuck, it nearly makes him howl, how hot it is, the taste of them together.

He lets Stiles manhandle him gently, rolling him into his back, spreading his legs wide around his slender hips. He’s retrieved some lube from his nightstand and begins working at Derek’s loosened hole with newly slick fingers, his other hand gently petting the inside of his thigh. “So beautiful,” Stiles whispers, voice soft and fingers twisting. Derek loses himself in the sensation, gasping for air in quickening breaths as Stiles works him open with aching affection, long fingers curling now and then to tease at his prostate, his grin at once devious and adorable when Derek’s cock starts to harden again, the hand on his thigh starting to squeeze and pinch.

Derek never thought he was the kind of man who would beg for it, but Stiles has been showing him facets of himself he never forgot he had since that very first day, shouldn’t be surprised at how vulnerable he lets himself become now, at how needy he sounds when he whines for Stiles to get inside of him. He enters him slowly, pressing in inch by painstakingly slow inch. Derek keeps his eyes locked on Stiles’ face, marvels at how his eyes roll back, lashes fluttering, when he seats himself fully inside of him, sputtering and gasping. Stiles moves tentatively at first, hands and eyes running all over Derek’s body, urgent and greedy. Derek snatches one of his hands from where it’s tweaking at his nipple, drags it up so he can kiss his palm and intertwine their fingers. This seems to settle Stiles, anchor him maybe, his eyes focusing on Derek’s, thrusts getting more assured and steady. Soon he’s rocking hard and fast, sharp, bony hips digging into the tender shallows of Derek’s thighs. “More,” he hears himself pant, and he’s not quite sure what he’s asking for, wants more of everything, more Stiles, always and forever and _fuck_ , this kid has turned him inside out in the very best way and he’s utterly, completely lost in him.

Stiles ruts harder, face shining with sweat, sticky beads of it dripping onto Derek’s flushed chest. They’re both breathing hard, rocking against each other, Derek’s cock bouncing between them, loud moans echoing with the rapid pounding of the bed against the wall. Stiles pulls out without warning, making Derek cry out at the gaping emptiness he feels, body twitching reflexively at the loss. “On your knees,” Stiles orders, scooting them up the bed so Derek can turn over, hands wrapping around the thin metal rails of the headboard. Stiles nestles in behind him, on his knees too, pushing back into him with easy confidence now, quickly returning to his rapid, eager thrusting. “Your ass is fucking perfect, daddy,” Stiles whispers into his neck, making Derek groan and clench, hand reaching for his aching cock. “Daddy, are you letting me fuck your perfect ass because I’ve been a good boy?” The softness in his voice belies his strength of his rutting hips, relentless as he pounds into him even as he begs for Derek’s approval.

“Yes,” Derek manages to gasp out, “so good, Stiles, fuck, you’re my good boy.” Derek's head lolls forward, body limp in Stiles' arms, staked on his rutting cock, quivering, needing even more of Stiles inside of him, always, never wants to not be split open and filled up by him. 

Stiles bites at his neck, wraps a hand around his cock. “Come for me, daddy.” Derek sputters and moans, squeezes Stiles’ cock tight as he obeys, shockwaves of hot pleasure rumbling through him, spilling a mess into Stiles’ hand, come dripping through his fingers and down on to the pillows. 

“Oh fuck, _Derek_ ,” Stiles cries out, grinding even harder, hips snapping, messy hand slipping across Derek’s hip, grappling to hold on, trying to steady himself as he shoots hard, heavy bursts deep inside of him.

They’re both still panting, dazed, when Stiles slips out, pulling Derek’s hips back just bit to turn his ass up more to his liking, to give him a better angle when he leans down to hold him open, sticky hands squeezing and spreading his cheeks, pushing his come out of his tender, puffy hole. Even over the pounding of his heart and the buzzing aftershocks of his orgasm, Derek can hear Stiles licking his lips when he starts to feel the slow, thick drip start to leak out of him, shivering and smiling at how good it feels. He flexes and twitches, pushing out a squelching gush that Stiles watches streak down his balls before he slavers at him, slowly, tenderly, humming and slurping like licking his come out of Derek’s ass is the best thing he’s ever done, ever will do, and as far as Derek is concerned, he’s right, because fuck, it’s unbelievable, how good it feels to have Stiles’ wet, hot mouth tend to his sensitive, used hole.

When Stiles has cleaned him to his liking, they fall in a tangled heap on the messy sheets, bodies pot- and sex-dense, languid. “Was that okay,” Stiles asks, sleepy and soft, face buried in Derek’s armpit. 

"Perfect," Derek mumbles, wishing there were words enough to tell Stiles just how perfect it was, how perfect he is. Stiles seems to know though, smiling against his skin and rocking even closer, arms clutched tight around his chest as he drifts off to sleep. Derek is sleepy too, eyelids getting so heavy, but he fights it off as long as he can, studying Stiles' face, re-memorizing the slight upturn of his nose, the swooping curves of his mouth, the scatter of moles under his whiskers, the dark smudges of his eyelashes.

In the morning, he's going to light a joint and put it between Stiles' lips so he can watch the smoke pour lazily out of his mouth and swirl across his honeyed eyes as he licks down his lean torso, suckling him until he spills down his throat. Then he's going to take him out to breakfast before dragging him back to bed, lavishing attention on him for the rest of the weekend, making up for the month they spent apart.

But now, sated and calm, happy, Derek falls asleep, curled against his perfect, beautiful boy.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [deleted-scenes]() on Tumblr! Come hang out and obsess over Hobrien's facial hair with me.


End file.
